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She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. From the Sha-mien to the yacht, Spurlock had uttered no word; though, even in the semi-darkness, no gesture or word of Ruth's escaped him. Ann Veronica wiped a scalpel, put a card over a watch-glass containing thin shreds of embryonic guinea-pig swimming in mauve stain, and dismantled her microscope. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room.
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